Chapter 12

She was pale, and her hurried voice swelled with alarm as she questioned replying-- "Tamdóka thy guide?--I beheld thy death in his face at the races. He covers his heart with a smile, but revenge never sleeps in his bosom; His tongue--it is soft to beguile; but beware of the pur of the panther! For death, like a shadow, will walk by thy side in the midst of the forest, Or follow thy path like a hawk on the trail of a wounded _Mastínca_.[AN] A son of _Unktéhee_ is he,-- the Chief of the crafty magicians; They have plotted thy death; I can see thy trail--it is red in the forest; Beware of Tamdóka,--beware. Slumber not like the grouse of the woodlands, With head under wing, for the glare of the eyes that sleep not are upon thee."

[AN] The rabbit. The Dakotas called the Crees "Mastincapi"--Rabbits.

"Winona, fear not," said DuLuth, "for I carry the fire of _Wakínyan_[AO] And strong is the arm of my youth, and stout are the hearts of my warriors; But Winona has spoken the truth, and the heart of the White Chief is thankful. Hide this in thy bosom, dear maid,-- 'tis the crucified Christ of the white men.[AP] Lift thy voice to his spirit in need, and his spirit will hear thee and answer; For often he comes to my aid; he is stronger than all the Dakotas; And the Spirits of evil, afraid, hide away when he looks from the heavens." In her swelling, brown bosom she hid the crucified Jesus in silver; "_Niwástè_,"[AQ] she sadly replied; in her low voice the rising tears trembled; Her dewy eyes turned she aside, and she slowly returned to the _teepees_. But still on the swift river's strand, admiring the graceful Winona, As she gathered, with brown, dimpled hand, her hair from the wind, stood the Frenchman.

DULUTH'S DEPARTURE

To bid the brave White Chief adieu, on the shady shore gathered the warriors; His glad boatmen manned the canoe, and the oars in their hands were impatient. Spake the Chief of _Isántees_: "A feast will await the return of my brother. In peace rose the sun in the East, in peace in the West he descended. May the feet of my brother be swift till they bring him again to our _teepees_, The red pipe he takes as a gift, may he smoke that red pipe many winters. At my lodge-fire his pipe shall be lit, when the White Chief returns to _Kathága_; On the robes of my _tee_ shall he sit; he shall smoke with the chiefs of my people. The brave love the brave, and his son sends the Chief as a guide for his brother, By the way of the _Wákpa Wakán_[AR] to the Chief at the Lake of the Spirits. As light as the foot-steps of dawn are the feet of the stealthy Tamdóka; He fears not the _Máza Wakán_;[AS] he is sly as the fox of the forest. When he dances the dance of red war howl the wolves by the broad _Mini-ya-ta_,[AT] For they scent on the south-wind afar their feast on the bones of Ojibways." Thrice the Chief puffed the red pipe of peace, ere it passed to the lips of the Frenchman. Spake DuLuth: "May the Great Spirit bless with abundance the Chief and his people; May their sons and their daughters increase, and the fire ever burn in their _teepees_." Then he waved with a flag his adieu to the Chief and the warriors assembled; And away shot Tamdóka's canoe to the strokes of ten sinewy hunters; And a white path he clove up the blue, bubbling stream of the swift Mississippi; And away on his foaming trail flew, like a sea-gull, the bark of the Frenchman.

[AO] i.e. fire-arms which the Dakotas compare to the roar of the wings of the Thunder-bird and the fierey arrows he shoots.

[AP] DuLuth was a devout Catholic.

[AQ] _Nee-wah-shtay_--Thou art good.

[AR] Spirit-River, now called Rum River.

[AS] Fire-arm--spirit-metal.

[AT] Lake Superior--at that time the home of the Ojibways (Chippewas).

Then merrily rose the blithe song of the _voyageurs_ homeward returning, And thus, as they glided along, sang the bugle-voiced boatmen in chorus:

SONG.

Home again! home again! bend to the oar! Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur._ He rides on the river with his paddle in his hand, And his boat is his shelter on the water and the land. The clam has his shell and the water-turtle too, But the brave boatman's shell is his birch-bark canoe. So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar; Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur._

Home again! home again! bend to the oar! Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_, His couch is as downy as a couch can be, For he sleeps on the feathers of the green fir-tree. He dines on the fat of the pemmican-sack, And his _eau de vie_ is the _eau de lac_. So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar; Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_.

Home again! home again! bend to the oar! Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_. The brave, jolly boatman,--he never is afraid When he meets at the portage a red, forest maid, A Huron, or a Cree, or a blooming Chippeway; And he marks his trail with the _bois brulés_[AU] So pull away, boatmen; bend to the oar; Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_. Home again! home again! bend to the oar! Merry is the life of the gay _voyageur_.

In the reeds of the meadow the stag lifts his branchy head stately and listens, And the bobolink, perched on the flag, her ear sidelong bends to the chorus. From the brow of the Beautiful Isle,[AV] half hid in the midst of the maples, The sad-faced Winona, the while, watched the boat growing less in the distance, Till away in the bend of the stream, where it turned and was lost in the lindens, She saw the last dip and the gleam of the oars ere they vanished forever.

[AU] "Burnt woods"--half-breeds.

[AV] _Wita Waste_--"Beautiful Island"; the Dakota name for Nicollet Island.

Still afar on the waters the song, like bridal bells distantly chiming, The stout, jolly boatmen prolong, beating time with the stroke of their paddles; And Winona's ear, turned to the breeze, lists the air falling fainter and fainter, Till it dies like the murmur of bees when the sun is aslant on the meadows. Blow, breezes,--blow softly and sing in the dark, flowing hair of the maiden; But never again shall you bring the voice that she loves to Winona.

THE CANOE RACE.

Now a light rustling wind from the South shakes his wings o'er the wide, wimpling waters: Up the dark-winding river DuLuth follows fast in the wake of Tamdóka. On the slopes of the emerald shores leafy woodlands and prairies alternate; On the vine-tangled islands the flowers peep timidly out at the white men; In the dark-winding eddy the loon sits warily watching and voiceless, And the wild-goose, in reedy lagoon, stills the prattle and play of her children. The does and their sleek, dappled fawns prick their ears and peer out from the thickets, And the bison-calves play on the lawns, and gambol like colts in the clover. Up the still-flowing _Wákpa Wakán's_ winding path through the groves and the meadows, Now DuLuth's brawny boatmen pursue the swift-gliding bark of Tamdóka; And hardly the red braves out-do the stout, steady oars of the white men.

Now they bend to their oars in the race-- the ten tawny braves of Tamdóka; And hard on their heels in the chase ply the six stalwart oars of the Frenchmen. In the stern of his boat sits DuLuth; in the stern of his boat sits Tamdóka, And warily, cheerily, both urge the oars of their men to the utmost. Far-stretching away to the eyes, winding blue in the midst of the meadows, As a necklet of sapphires that lies unclaspt in the lap of a virgin, Here asleep in the lap of the plain lies the reed-bordered, beautiful river. Like two flying coursers that strain, on the track, neck and neck on the home-stretch, With nostrils distended and mane froth-flecked, and the neck and the shoulders, Each urged to his best by the cry and the whip and the rein of his rider, Now they skim o'er the waters and fly, side by side, neck and neck, through the meadows, The blue heron flaps from the reeds, and away wings her course up the river: Straight and swift is her flight o'er the meads, but she hardly outstrips the canoemen. See! the _voyageurs_ bend to their oars till the blue veins swell out on their foreheads; And the sweat from their brawny breasts pours; but in vain their Herculean labor; For the oars of Tamdóka are ten, and but six are the oars of the Frenchman, And the red warriors' burden of men is matched by the _voyageurs'_ luggage. Side by side, neck and neck, for a mile, still they strain their strong arms to the utmost, Till rounding a willowy isle, now ahead creeps the boat of Tamdóka, And the neighboring forests profound, and the far-stretching plain of the meadows To the whoop of the victors resound, while the panting French rest on their paddles.

IN CAMP.

With sable wings wide o'er the land night sprinkles the dew of the heavens; And hard by the dark river's strand, in the midst of a tall, somber forest, Two camp fires are lighted and beam on the trunks and the arms of the pine trees. In the fitful light darkle and gleam the swarthy-hued faces around them. And one is the camp of DuLuth, and the other the camp of Tamdóka. But few are the jests and uncouth of the voyageurs over their supper, While moody and silent the braves round their fire in a circle sit crouching; And low is the whisper of leaves and the sough of the wind in the branches; And low is the long-winding howl of the lone wolf afar in the forest; But shrill is the hoot of the owl, like a bugle-blast blown in the pine-tops, And the half-startled _voyageurs_ scowl at the sudden and saucy intruder. Like the eyes of the wolves are the eyes of the watchful and silent Dakotas; Like the face of the moon in the skies, when the clouds chase each other across it, Is Tamdóka's dark face in the light of the flickering flames of the camp-fire. They have plotted red murder by night, and securely contemplate their victims. But wary and armed to the teeth are the resolute Frenchmen, and ready, If need be, to grapple with death, and to die hand to hand in the forest. Yet skilled in the arts and the wiles of the cunning and crafty _Algonkins_[AW] They cover their hearts with their smiles, and hide their suspicions of evil. Round their low, smouldering fire, feigning sleep, lie the watchful and wily Dakotas; But DuLuth and his _voyageurs_ heap their fire that shall blaze till the morning, Ere they lay themselves snugly to rest, with their guns by their sides on the blankets, As if there were none to molest but the gray, skulking wolves of the forest.

[AW] Ojibways.

'Tis midnight. The rising moon gleams, weird and still, o'er the dusky horizon; Through the hushed, somber forest she beams, and fitfully gloams on the meadows; And a dim, glimmering pathway she paves, at times, on the dark stretch of river. The winds are asleep in the caves-- in the heart of the far-away mountains; And here on the meadows and there, the lazy mists gather and hover; And the lights of the Fen-Spirits[72] flare and dance on the low-lying marshes, As still as the footsteps of death by the bed of the babe and its mother; And hushed are the pines, and beneath lie the weary-limbed boatmen in slumber. Walk softly,--walk softly, O Moon, through the gray, broken clouds in thy pathway, For the earth lies asleep and the boon of repose is bestowed on the weary. Toiling hands have forgotten their care; e'en the brooks have forgotten to murmur; But hark!--there's a sound on the air!-- 'tis the light-rustling robes of the Spirits, Like the breath of the night in the leaves or the murmur of reeds on the river, In the cool of the mid-summer eyes, when the blaze of the day has descended. Low-crouching and shadowy forms, as still as the gray morning's footsteps, Creep sly as the serpent that charms, on her nest in the meadow, the plover; In the shadows of pine-trunks they creep, but their panther-eyes gleam in the fire-light, As they peer on the white-men asleep, in the glow of the fire, on their blankets. Lo in each swarthy right-hand a knife; in the left-hand, the bow and the arrows! Brave Frenchmen, awake to the strife!-- or you sleep in the forest forever. Nay, nearer and nearer they glide, like ghosts on the field of their battles, Till close on the sleepers, they bide but the signal of death from Tamdóka. Still the sleepers sleep on. Not a breath stirs the leaves of the awe-stricken forest; The hushed air is heavy with death; like the footsteps of death are the moments. "_Arise!_"--At the word, with a bound, to their feet spring the vigilant Frenchmen; And the depths of the forest resound to the crack and the roar of their rifles; And seven writhing forms on the ground clutch the earth. From the pine-tops the screech-owl Screams and flaps his wide wings in affright, and plunges away through the shadows; And swift on the wings of the night flee the dim, phantom-forms through the darkness. Like _cabris_[80] when white wolves pursue, fled the four yet remaining Dakotas; Through forest and fen-land they flew, and wild terror howled on their footsteps. And one was Tamdóka. DuLuth through the night sent his voice like a trumpet: "Ye are _Sons of Unktéhee_, forsooth! Return to your mothers, ye cowards!" His shrill voice they heard as they fled, but only the echoes made answer. At the feet of the brave Frenchmen, dead, lay seven swarthy _Sons of whitehead_; And there, in the midst of the slain, they found, as it gleamed in the fire-light, The horn-handled knife from the Seine, where it fell from the hand of Tamdóka.

In the gray of the morn, ere the sun peeped over the dewy horizon, Their journey again was begun, and they toiled up the swift, winding river; And many a shallow they passed on their way to the Lake of the Spirits;[AX] But dauntless they reached it at last, and found Akee-pá-kee-tin's[AY] village, On an isle in the midst of the lake; and a day in his teepees they tarried. Of the deed in the wilderness spake, to the brave Chief, the frank-hearted Frenchman. A generous man was the Chief, and a friend of the fearless explorer; And dark was his visage with grief at the treacherous act of the warriors. "Brave Wází-kuté is a man, and his heart is as clear as the sunlight; But the head of a treacherous clan and a snake-in-the-grass, is Tamdóka," Said the chief; and he promised DuLuth, on the word of a friend and a warrior, To carry the pipe and the truth to his cousin, the chief at Kathága; For thrice at the _Tânka Medé_ he smoked in the lodge of the Frenchman; And thrice had he carried away the bountiful gifts of the trader.

[AX] Mille Lacs

[AY] See Hennepin's account of "Aqui-pa-que-tin," and his village. Shea's Hennepin, 225.

When the chief could no longer prevail on the white men to rest in his _teepees_, He guided their feet on the trail to the lakes of the winding Rice-River.[AZ] Now on speeds the light bark canoe, through the lakes to the broad _Gitchee Seebee_;[BA] And up the great river they row,-- up the Big Sandy Lake and Savanna; And down through the meadows they go to the river of blue _Gitchee-Gumee_.[BB] Still onward they speed to the Dalles-- to the roar of the white-rolling rapids, Where the dark river tumbles and falls down the ragged ravine of the mountains. And singing his wild jubilee to the low-moaning pines and the cedars, Rushes on to the unsalted sea o'er the ledges upheaved by volcanoes. Their luggage the _voyageurs_ bore down the long, winding path of the portage,[BC] While they mingled their song with the roar of the turbid and turbulent waters. Down-wimpling and murmuring there 'twixt two dewy hills winds a streamlet, Like a long, flaxen ringlet of hair on the breast of a maid in her slumber.

All safe at the foot of the trail, where they left it, they found their felucca, And soon to the wind spread the sail, and glided at ease through the waters,-- Through the meadows and lakelets and forth, round the point stretching south like a finger, From the pine-plumed hills on the north, sloping down to the bay and the lake-side And behold, at the foot of the hill, a cluster of Chippewa wigwams, And the busy wives plying with skill their nets in the emerald waters. Two hundred white winters and more have fled from the face of the Summer Since DuLuth on that wild, somber shore, in the unbroken forest primeval, From the midst of the spruce and the pines, saw the smoke of the wigwams up-curling, Like the fumes from the temples and shrines of the Druids of old in their forests. Ah, little he dreamed then, forsooth, that a city would stand on that hill-side, And bear the proud name of DuLuth, the untiring and dauntless explorer,-- A refuge for ships from the storms, and for men from the bee-hives of Europe, Out-stretching her long, iron arms o'er an empire of Saxons and Normans.

[AZ] Now called "Mud River"--it empties into the Mississippi at Aitkin.

[BA] _Gitchee See-bee_--Big River--is the Ojibway name for the Mississippi, which is a corruption of Gitchee Seebee--as Michigan is a corruption of _Gitchee Gumee_--Great Lake, the Ojibway name of Lake Superior.

[BB] The Ojibways called the St. Louis River _Gitchee-Gumee See-bee_--_Great-lake River_, i.e. the river of the Great Lake (Lake Superior).

[BC] The route of DuLuth above described--from the mouth of the Wild-Rice (Mud) River, to Lake Superior--was for centuries, and still is, the Indians' canoe-route. I have walked over the old portage from the foot of the Dalles to the St. Louis above--trod by the feet of half-breeds and _voyageurs_ for more than two centuries, and by the Indians for perhaps a thousand years.

The swift west-wind sang in the sails, and on flew the boat like a sea-gull, By the green, templed hills and the dales, and the dark, rugged rocks of the North Shore; For the course of the brave Frenchman lay to his fort at the _Gáh-mah-na-ték-wáhk,_[83] By the shore of the grand Thunder Bay, where the gray rocks loom up into mountains; Where the Stone Giant sleeps on the Cape, and the god of the storms makes the thunder,[83] And the _Makinak_[83] lifts his huge shape from the breast of the blue-rolling waters. And thence to the south-westward led his course to the Holy Ghost Mission,[84] Where the Black Robes, the brave shepherds, fed their wild sheep on the isle _Wauga-bá-mè_,[94] In the enchanting _Cha-quám-e-gon_ Bay defended by all the Apostles,[BD] And thence, by the Ké-we-naw, lay his course to the Mission Sainte Marie,[BE] Now the waves clap their myriad hands, and streams the white hair of the surges; DuLuth at the steady helm stands, and he hums as he bounds o'er the billows:

O sweet is the carol of bird, And sweet is the murmur of streams, But sweeter the voice that I heard-- In the night--in the midst of my dreams.

[BD] The Apostle Islands.

[BE] At the Sault Ste. Marie.

WINONA AND TA-TE-PSIN.

'Tis the moon of the sere, falling leaves. From the heads of the maples the west-wind Plucks the red-and-gold plumage and grieves on the meads for the rose and the lily; Their brown leaves the moaning oaks strew, and the breezes that roam on the prairies, Low-whistling and wanton pursue the down of the silk-weed and thistle. All sere are the prairies and brown in the glimmer and haze of the Autumn; From the far northern marshes flock down, by thousands, the geese and the mallards. From the meadows and wide-prairied plains, for their long southward journey preparing. In croaking flocks gather the cranes, and choose with loud clamor their leaders. The breath of the evening is cold, and lurid along the horizon The flames of the prairies are rolled, on the somber skies flashing their torches. At noontide a shimmer of gold through the haze pours the sun from his pathway. The wild-rice is gathered and ripe, von the moors, lie the scarlet _po-pan-ka_,[BF] _Michábo_[85] is smoking his pipe,-- 'tis the soft, dreamy Indian Summer, When the god of the South[3] as he flies from _Wazíya_, the god of the Winter, For a time turns his beautiful eyes, and backward looks over his shoulder.

[BF] Cranberries.

It is noon. From his path in the skies the red sun looks down on _Kathága_. Asleep in the valley it lies, for the swift hunters follow the bison. Ta-té-psin, the aged brave, bends as he walks by the side of Winona; Her arm to his left hand she lends, and he feels with his staff for the pathway; On his slow, feeble footsteps attends his gray dog, the watchful Wicháka; [a] For blind in his years is the chief of a fever that followed the Summer, And the days of Ta-té-psin are brief. Once more by the dark-rolling river Sits the Chief in the warm, dreamy haze of the beautiful Summer in Autumn; And the faithful dog lovingly lays his head at the feet of his master. On a dead, withered branch sits a crow, down-peering askance at the old man; On the marge of the river below romp the nut-brown and merry-voiced children, And the dark waters silently flow, broad and deep, to the plunge of the Ha-ha.

[a] Wee-chah kah--literally "Faithful".